


For a brother, From a brother

by beef_wonder3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is stressed, Gen, Souless!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beef_wonder3/pseuds/beef_wonder3
Summary: Sam wants to know why Dean doesn’t want him to apologise.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 4





	For a brother, From a brother

**Author's Note:**

> Coda-ish to 6.07 - Family Matters

The silence in the car was taught, almost brittle with tension. The dark night that surrounded them didn’t help ease it, either. Tentative to force it to crumble, Sam kept his voice quiet when he spoke;  
  
“I did something wrong again, didn’t I?”  
  
Dean’s eyes cut towards Sam before flicking back to the road, his hands tightening minutely on the steering wheel,  
“It’s okay. It happens.” He said to Sam.  
  
Sam pinched his lips together, struggling to understand.  
“But what did I _do_? He asked.  
  
Dean sighed, he was trying, he really was, but Sam had lost all ability to discern others’ emotions as well as losing his own. It was as plain as day, now that they knew why.  
“It’s doesn’t matter now.” Dean said resignedly, flicking on the indicator to turn into the motel parking lot.  
  
“Dean,” Sam pressed, “Tell me.”  
  
Parked in front the motel office, Dean killed the engine and looked at his brother again.  
“You just,” He began, “The victim was pretty traumatized. She’s been through hell, and you’re not exactly Mr. Sensitivity these days.”  
  
“I wasn’t... tactful enough with her?” Sam said slowly as if trying to put a puzzle together. Dean just nodded, that was more or less it, if you considered bombarding trauma victims with a volley of difficult, and personal, questions to not be ‘tactful’.  
  
“It’s okay, man,” Dean said, “Really. She’ll deal now the boyfriends’ bones are burned.” Dean shook his head and continued to talk as they both got out of the car, not even pretending he wasn’t trying to change the subject, “I tell you, that guy was one sick bastard. Not enough he has to beat on her when he’s alive but he’s enough of a douche to do it even after his death.”  
Sam didn’t reply, just nodded along while pulling their bags out of the trunk.  
  
Once in their room, bags were tossed haphazardly next to beds, Sam sitting on his as he watched Dean fidget around the room. Sam could see the ever present tension in the set of Dean’s shoulders as he settled in for the night.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Sam said suddenly. He should apologise, for the whole soul mess and for the lying. An apology should be necessary for that. Dean stopped rummaging through his bag and looked at Sam with a crease between his eyebrows.  
  
“I said it was okay, dude. It really is. The girl’s gonna be fine.” Dean told him.  
  
“No, I meant for everything; this whole soul business and stuff.” Sam clarified but trailing off at the end at the new pinched look on Dean’s face.  
  
Turning away quickly, Dean’s voice was injected with fake casualness,  
“Its okay, Sam. We’ll work it out.” It was clearly not okay, Sam saw from the way Dean jerked things around and the way his shoulders drew up even higher. Just like every time Sam apologised for anything and Sam didn’t know why.  
  
Sam didn’t know why apologising garnered such a reaction or why he sometimes caught Dean looking at him like he was in pain. Sam guessed it was because of his missing soul but Sam just didn’t know _why_.  
  
“Why do you do that?” He finally asked.  
  
“Do what?” Dean replied distractedly.  
  
“Tense up every time I apologise.”  
  
Dean stopped in the doorway to the bathroom, his back to Sam. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to have this conversation and he certainly didn’t want to say all the things threatening to bubble up out of him.  
“It’s nothing Sam. Just drop it okay?” Dean said harshly. Don’t push, Dean thought to himself. Please don’t push Sammy, just let it go.  
  
But Sam didn’t heed Dean’s silent prayer and getting to his feet he pushed anyway,  
“No, I want to know why you can’t hear me say sorry!” Sam said hotly, knowing if he got Dean to boil over, he would tell him.  
  
And Sam was right because Dean snapped. His own emotions fizzing out of his control as it all welled up and he was biting out,  
“Because you don’t mean it!” before he could stop himself. Whirling around on the spot, Dean saw Sam just looking at him, head tilted slightly. Now he’d started, Dean couldn’t rein control back, so he just kept talking.  
  
“I don’t believe you when you say sorry, because I know you’re not. You don’t feel sorry. You don’t feel anything that would make a sorry mean anything. You don’t feel guilt, you don’t feel shame, you don’t feel anything.”  
  
“Dean-“ Sam started to say but Dean cut him off and kept going.  
  
“I know it’s not your fault. I know that now. But it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have any instincts, you can’t tell right from wrong, you don’t have any empathy, you don’t even have a goddamn conscious!” Dean felt himself shaking as the words spilled out but he couldn’t make himself stop, he couldn’t when Sam was looking at him like he should take exception to Dean’s words but just wasn’t able to.  
  
And finally Dean was ranting the very things he did not want to talk about but was so fucking useless in stopping himself.  
“It’s hard okay!” He said, voice raised but not quite shouting, “I know we’re both dealing with this but the difference is that I _feel_ it! And it hurts! It really fucking hurts!” At that final declaration Dean finally found the strength to stop running his mouth. And Sam was still looking at him like Dean was suddenly covered in crazy.  
  
“Look, Dean,” Sam finally asked, “I’m trying to understand here, I get that I’m different now but why does it hurt you so much?”  
  
Dean swallowed and looked away from him, voice soft and quite like he was admitting a secret,  
“Because you’re my brother.”  
  
“And? Aside from the obvious, that means...?” Sam prompted him.  
  
Ire raised again, Dean shot Sam a glare like he was forcing to do something nasty, and he snapped out,  
“Because you’re my brother and I love you, okay? I fucking love you and that hurts.”  
  
Sam was taken aback slightly by Dean’s admission but it didn’t really clear things up.  
“I love you too, Dean. But why does that hurt?” Sam implored.  
  
Dean flinched at Sam’s words, swallowing against the burn of the feelings choking him.  
“Because you don’t.” Dean said, barely above a whisper.  
  
“What?” Sam said, taken aback a second time.  
  
“You just said, ‘I love you too’,” Dean said, finally looking at Sam again. Dean didn’t bother trying to hide the way his eyes were starting to blur a little as he continued. “But I look at you and I know for certain that you feel nothing. You have no emotions, Sam. You don’t love me right now. You’re not capable of it. You know you _should_ love me. You remember what it was like to love me. But right now? You don’t feel it.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to refute Dean’s claims but he couldn’t find the words. Even worse, he couldn’t find the feelings. Dean just nodded and ignored the tears that fell when he blinked.  
“I know it’s not you’re fault and I know that right now it’s not something we can do anything about. I’m just saying it hurts, is all.”  
  
Sam couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just nodded.  
  
  
Later, when the only light in the room was the streetlight filtering through the crappy curtains, Sam looked over at the lump of Dean in the other bed.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispered, not quite sure why he was whispering but doing it anyway. Sam saw the Dean-lump move slightly, indicating he was listening, “I’m not looking forward to getting my soul back.” There was a sharp intake of breath but Dean didn’t interrupt. “I’m not looking forward to getting all the guilt and the loss and the shame of all my fuck-ups back. But,”  
  
Dean rolled over at Sam’s pause, looking at him intently, “But I do want it back.” Sam continued, “I want to feel proud of the good hunts. I want to laugh at your lame jokes. I want to get frustrated and angry with you. I want to love you again.” Sam concluded.  
  
Dean didn’t say anything or move for a long minuet but quite suddenly he flung off his duvet and got out of bed. Not sure what to make of it, Sam slipped out of bed as well. They stood facing each other for a second before Dean gripped Sam’s shoulders tightly and pulled him into a hug. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s back and held him tight.  
  
Neither one of them knew how long they stood there but they didn’t make much effort to move away too quickly. And if Sam felt a little wetness on his shoulder where Dean’s face was pressed, he pretended not to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving fic from my lj days.  
> Title is from a quote* by Astrid Alauda;
> 
> "There's no other love like the love for a brother.  
> There's no other love like the love from a brother.”  
> ~Astrid Alauda


End file.
